Chapter 7:

A Revolutionary Songwriter

A Collection of Random Short Stories that have Nothing in Common Aside From Being Written by the Same Person


What do you need to pull off a revolution?

Weapons, manpower, the people’s support?

If that was your answer, you’re not wrong. But you’re still missing something.

You’re missing me.

The songwriter.

Why does a revolution need a songwriter, you may ask?

Does a revolution really need something as mundane and useless in combat as a songwriter, you may ask?

For 99% of revolutions, the answer would probably be no.

For my revolution, the answer was yes.

The whole thing had started about ten years ago. I had been nothing more than a mere washed-up musician, and decided to go wherever the winds may lead me in the hopes they would bring me fortune.

And they had led me here.

To a new land, one I even now could not find on any map, that I never once had heard of before I set foot on it myself. In almost every way it was the same as where I had once come from.

Aside from one vital difference.

No weapons. No violence. No fighting.

Only song. Music. Dance.

Instead of weapons and armaments, we had rhythm and rhyme. Instead of death and slaughter, we had rap and dance battles.

From an idealistic perspective, it probably had its merits. Less fighting meant less death. Less injuries, less tragedy. At least that’s what it should have meant, in a perfect world.

But this world was not a perfect one.

It was unjust, unfair. Ruled by a tyrant. A master of dance and song alike, her magnificent skill second only to her cruelty.

The people, suffering. The crops, perishing. Hopes and happiness? Never heard of ‘em.

That little story is what at last brings us to the present day. It was probably no great surprise that people tended to get just a little mad. Angry, irritated, filled up by pent-up frustration. You know, that sort of thing that just happens sometimes.

The frustration slowly boiled over into a revolution. For most of the people, a chance to finally get what they truthfully had deserved, what they already should have had since long ago. For me, it was a chance to finally have someone appreciate my gifts.

I was at the frontlines.

I helped fire up the ones who still were hesitant, I turned the tides of many a losing battle, I fought the previous ruler.

And I won.

I won.

Again, and again, I won.

The songs I had written so long ago had at last found their purpose.

Granted me victory, made the people think they finally had justice in their hands.

I, however, would object to that notion. I had my own little hypothesis about this whole affair.

In this world, songs determined all. I wrote the songs that lit up this revolution. And when all battles were fought with song, the songwriter was king. At least that was what I chose to believe.

Thus, there was only one logical conclusion you reasonably could come to.

I, as the songwriter, deserved to be king.

And I still had one song left.

EliteWarrior910
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